


Silmarillion Tumblr Ficlets

by Code16



Series: kings in my deck (willing and able verse) [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Corporal Punishment, Figging, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Tumblr Prompt, dark!Fëanor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16
Summary: Archiving ficlets from tumblr.Hope to update with some backlog.Current content:1. Russingon Vampire AU2. willing and able verse: some Feanorians are scarier than others (Turgon, Caranthir, implied noncon)3. in which Feanor in exile Got Up To Some Things (scary Feanor with Silmarils)4. figging; d/s au sub!Maitmo arranged married to Sauron (references to past corporal punishment)
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Turgon of Gondolin, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë
Series: kings in my deck (willing and able verse) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628521
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	1. Russingon Vampire AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally [posted on tumblr 12/29/18](https://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com/post/181541648729/for-the-meme-maedhrosfingon-vampire-au).
> 
> Prompted by [lendmyboyfriendahand](https://lendmyboyfriendahand.tumblr.com/):
>
>> for the meme: Maedhros/Fingon, Vampire AU  
> 
> 
>   
> (First line is a quote from the Silmarillion).

_“Maedhros therefore, being in anguish without hope, begged Fingon to shoot him with his bow.”_ And Fingon looked upon his love in his suffering, and knew the secrecy he had been charged with, and he knew what he would choose. “Forgive me,” he prayed, and then he moved.

Maedhros thought it was a curse of the Dark Enemy, causing his eyes to decive him again, as the image of his cousin turned to one of a flock of bats that rose up the mountain to the ledge just out of his reach. Though it must be more deception when the image of his cousin returned, a knife now in its hand.

“Forgive me,” Fingon spoke again, to one more immediate now, and he raised his knife.

He had hoped this would not be necessary, hoped that once his love was in distance of touch he could change them both to the other shape together. But the bond wrought by Morgoth made it not to be. Praying to Manwe in his mind, he held his breath as he raised his knife, prepared for the hunger to rise inside him.

Much later, when the cliff was behind them and his love’s wounds bound as well as could be done in the wilderness, Fingon would tell his love the story of the Maia he had met on the ice, the offer she had made and he accepted, unable to refuse anything that might save even a few from the ice. How he had been able to scout new routes, find game that even elf eyes had not detected (the meat could go to others, once he had drunk the blood) carry the most desperate of the host in shifted shape.

How his father had bade him to keep the secret from others not of their host, lest they think him corrupted.

“I could never,” whispered Maedhros, his voice still rough from his screams in torment. “I have seen corruption, and I know there is none in you.” Fingon did not need to speak for Maedhros to read his face. “But of course neither will I betray your secret without your leave. You have borne me from the darkest anguish. My life is yours forevermore, my love the Valiant.”


	2. willing and able verse: some Feanorians are scarier than others (Turgon, Caranthir, implied noncon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally [posted on tumblr 1/27/20](https://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com/post/190510223429/oh-please-43-with-turgon-andor-36-with-fingolfin).
> 
> Prompted on tumblr [from a word-or-phrase-from-a-list prompt](https://creativichee.tumblr.com/post/120992338495/send-me-a-number-and-ill-write-a-micro-story).
>
>> Oh please 43 with Turgon and/or 36 with Fingolfin if you feel inspired by either.
> 
> (this is the former).
> 
> **43\. undone**
> 
> Willing and able verse.

He closes the door to the study-library behind him. The hallway disappears behind the heavy wood; his breath catches as though he’d run on his way down it. (He hadn’t, he wouldn’t. The guards would pay attention.)

He’s clutching the pile of books to his chest hard enough that the covers leave furrows in his palms. Tyelcormo is back from some hunt, and he’s almost jumped at glimpses of anything like blonde hair, and - _‘his highness Morifinwe asked me to bring him these’._ Feanor’s children don’t interfere with each other’s plans, honor each other’s temporary claims. Usually. He’d still found himself bracing at corners. But he hadn’t seen anyone, he’s been lucky. For now.

(Tyelcormo is back from some hunt, and he wants to be back in his own library, or in their little sitting room - and he doesn’t want to be there at all, because that means a call can come at any time, from anyone-).

He walks back to the table, puts the books down on it. “Your highness.”

Carnistir still sits at the table, other books opened around him. “Thank you.” He lays down his pen. “Come here.”

He goes. He tries to think about books.

Carnistir has his pants undone.

“You’ve been very helpful. Keep serving so well, and I’ll keep you in my rooms for the night.” _Where no one else might touch him_ , he knows it means.

Out of Feanor’s sons, Carnistir is one who doesn’t usually react when he cries, one way or the other. 

The study-library is quiet. The floor is wood, polished, almost soft, like the leather of the books he’d held.

He kneels.


	3. in which Feanor in exile Got Up To Some Things (scary Feanor with Silmarils)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally [posted on tumblr 1/27/20](https://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com/post/190511149484/oh-please-43-with-turgon-andor-36-with-fingolfin).
> 
> Prompted on tumblr [from a word-or-phrase-from-a-list prompt](https://creativichee.tumblr.com/post/120992338495/send-me-a-number-and-ill-write-a-micro-story).
>
>> Oh please 43 with Turgon and/or 36 with Fingolfin if you feel inspired by either.
> 
> (this is the latter).
> 
> **36\. total control**

Feanor is terrifying.

The Silmarils blaze on his brow, brighter than ever but somehow newly sharp, and not only light but something Nolofinwe’s eyes do not see seems to bend around him, warping the very air as he strides into the great hall of the palace in Tirion.

Nolofinwe has stepped down from the throne (a lower throne he’d had made - his father’s he left empty, did not approach). Stepped in front of his son, who he’d just been speaking to, who he now is not sure if he wishes to push behind him or clutch to himself. 

He tries to contain the shivers that seem to come almost involuntary from Feanor’s white-lit presence, steps forward further. Feanor is terrifying, but Nolofinwe is the regent king, and he will not betray or abandon his duty.

“Brother,” he says, and is not sure it was wise to say. But ‘you were exiled by the rule of the Valar’ would surely be less wise.

Feanor smiles.

“Half-brother. Do you think you might have speech to make with me, by the strength of the crown father lent you?

I do believe my crown far surpasses it.”

The air seems to spark and press on him. He does not step back.

“What have you come here for?”

“Come here for? This is my home! My birthright. Our blessed center of the peace of Valinor. 

Did you know, I once trusted the peace. Thought to trust our father, even through his betrayal. Thought even perhaps the Valar could be trusted, in some domains, despite their failure.

But the peace is a pretty painted scarf, and you bring our father poisoned words and he lends you his ear, and the Valar cannot command their own house but seek to command mine.

Yet even so they have done me favor, for it is after _their_ words that I finally realized that I cannot trust. Not anything but what I myself bring forth. Only that which is under my total control. _That_ is my true birthright.

That is what will truly keep our peace.”

Nolofinwe finds himself unable to speak; is not certain if this is by some separate act of Feanor or simply -

Feanor smiles again. The light around him is sharper still, extends farther than before, like shards of glass to follow the rays of a crown into the hall.

“Do you worry of the Valar? They cannot so much as find their own wayward brother, who they themselves released back among us. Or do you worry for our people? My peace will be of greater strength than any they might have had. That which I control can surpass all other; as I take this realm it is only to its good.

And you.” Feanor reaches for his hip and draws a sword, blade of the same cutting light, felt through the air before it has come close to him. 

“I will not make the mistake of lifting my attention off my brother, that he may plot in secret. Nor do I forget past deeds.

Take thy due place.”

The last time Feanor had held a sword to him, it had been metal. Cold metal, he had thought in his mind, though he could hardly feel that, through his court dress layers.

Light cannot be cold. Feanor’s light dances against the walls, draws his eyes to the edge and point before his chest. Is ice, and fire.

He stands in front of his second son, and prays that his other children might be somehow in safety, that all their people might be, and is not sure who he prays to.

Before the thrones, among the light, he kneels at Feanor’s feet.


	4. figging; d/s au sub!Maitmo arranged married to Sauron (references to past corporal punishment)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally [posted on tumblr 2/22/20](https://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com/post/190969471624/its-ginger-baby-does-it-burn-that-bad).
> 
> Prompted off [a list](https://dragonroleplaystarters.tumblr.com/post/165437055797)
> 
> Prompt is first line, in italics.
> 
> setting: (dark) d/s au, sub!Maitimo who grew up with a dark!dom!Feanor and is now arranged married to Sauron.

_“It’s ginger, baby. Does it burn that bad?”_

He doesn’t know how to answer. What he can, should say to his master, but - even if he doesn’t say it, what -

It isn’t that it hurts. It hurts, but punishment hurts, his father had seen it called for to cane him very thoroughly on more than one occasion, whipped him more often than that. He’s sat on the bare floor in school when a teacher though he needed the extended reminder after a paddling; he’s served his hours in a corner with his body aching.

It’s - he hadn’t realized, that punishment could be so _intimate_. (That - so many things could be so intimate, he knew what marriage was and somehow he-)

His master asked him a question. He needs to answer it.

He casts his eyes down. “I deserve it, sir.”

His master’s fingers take his chin to lift his head up. (He shouldn’t flinch from them, he can’t- (he shivers a little)).

“You do.

Don’t worry so baby. I know I can teach you to be good for me.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He’d learned what angered his father ( _when_ to anger his father, if-), how to live in his house. He’d learned his figures and his reading and how to bend over a teacher’s desk and how to listen from a corner.

He’ll learn; he’ll learn to be good.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](http://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


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